


what the war did (to my legs and to my tongue)

by Anonymous



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Animal Death, Character Study, Dad Wilbur Soot, Duck Hybrid Alexis | Quackity, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Floris | Fundy-centric, Fox Hybrid Floris | Fundy, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Loneliness, Neglect, Sad Floris | Fundy, Spy Floris | Fundy, Trauma, War, fundy and his arc are so underrated its unbelievable, he's a call duck bc i think he should be. its what he deserves and he deserves only the best, he's doing his best
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 10:22:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27469444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Fundy wants a lot of things. Respect, love, his pets, to not be treated like a child or a problem. It's too bad that he never gets what he wants for very long.
Relationships: Floris | Fundy & Alexis | Quackity, Floris | Fundy & Niki | Nihachu, Floris | Fundy & Wilbur Soot, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 16
Kudos: 210
Collections: Anonymous





	what the war did (to my legs and to my tongue)

**Author's Note:**

> everyone keeps sleeping on fundy and its so tragic. this doesn't even touch on everything i wanted to so like. enjoy!

Fundy loves his father. That is a given. He followed in his footsteps, trailing after him dressed in his handmade and lovingly commissioned uniform, crisp sky blue and pink against white and cream. 

Of course, back when he was still a part of L’Manberg, still dressed in his childish pastel uniform, no one took him seriously. When Sapnap killed his pets, of the L’Manbergians, only Niki supported him, without lecturing him about the image of L’Manberg or relations with the Dream SMP when he wanted revenge. Eret, who betrayed him once and now was no longer of L’Manberg, rebuilt Fungi’s grave after Sapnap threw the diamond headstone that Fundy had mined and made with his own two hands into molten lava. Funnily enough, his father didn't even take the time to give him a canned apology for his loss the few times he saw the man, busy as he was with presidential business and treating Tommy like the son that Fundy never was to him.

All Fundy ever even wanted from his father was to be respected, acknowledged for who he was and not just what he had to offer to The Revolution and L’Manberg. To be seen as someone worthy of duty and praise for his hard work. He tried to do everything right, tried to not even need to ask how high when Wilbur told him to jump. He worked so hard to act like a good son to Wilbur, and for what? He was barely even treated like he was any older than a child, baby-talked to, condescended, and cast aside like he meant nothing in favor of Tommy, his father’s vice president and right hand man. 

Fundy hates being treated like a joke when he does decide to even try for a position that Wilbur expects to belong to him. The votes he spoofs in a fit of anger, and with the still-burning embers of that rage he laughs when Schlatt takes office, the irony of it all fanning the flames in his heart into a bonfire. His laughter grows ever harder when Schlatt lets him, the Ex-President’s biological son, stay instead of Tommy. He feels sorry for the boy, sure, but something about the exile feels almost like a confirmation. Vindication of every nasty thought, that his father never loved him like he loved Tommy, his favored son who can start as much shit as he wants, fight the fights he wants to fight, brash and loudmouthed and beloved by Wilbur so much more than Fundy ever really was that even Schlatt knows it after barely any time around them. 

Even with that feeling of vindication he still decides to spy regardless, not truly angry at Tommy or any of the other members of L’Manberg who didn’t support the new regime, from Niki to Tubbo. They all had fought for their right to be happy and free in the home they had made with their own two hands, and Fundy truly could not deny them that, no matter the resentment he holds for his father.

When Wilbur says that he is too young, not ready for the promotion that Schlatt wants to give him, Fundy almost reconsiders his desire to help from the background, considers just settling down to enjoy the feeling of not being hunted by anyone for once in his fucking. He fought in a war that he was born into, died for the cause time and time again, only to be denied any real responsibility and respect, and with that anger in his heart, Fundy denies Wilbur, denies him not just to further gain Schlatt’s trust, but to make his father hurt the same way what he said and the way he treated Fundy hurt him. Schlatt’s tooth-filled grin at Fundy’s words says so much and yet nothing at all, and the feeling that twists in his gut as Schlatt gives him an office in the new regime is absolutely incomprehensible.

Fundy doesn't even  _ care _ what the title is, just waits for Schlatt to give him new duties, something real to do that means that he’s trusted, and after a few days of nothing, he's given that chance, Schlatt seeking him out in his base, where Fundy had been testing some new potion combinations that he thought might be useful, and the man tells him to follow him to the White House. He says that he has some easy paperwork for Fundy to do, and the excitement that Fundy feels despite being a self-proclaimed spy is almost embarrassing. 

Fundy is sat down at what looks to be a brand new desk, and he runs his paw pads over the cool dark oak, polished and made specifically for him. his heart resounds like a drum in his chest as Schlatt places a folder in front of him, telling him that he trusts him,  _ Schlatt trusts him _ , to do a good job. He barely even notices as the man swans away, the click of his steps ringing through the small office,  _ Fundy’s office.  _ Opening the file reverentially, careful not to damage it with his claws, he starts his work.

The first page is easy enough, some basic information needed to make sure that the forms end up in the right place at the end of the day, Fundy’s name and the date. He breezes past the beginning with ease, feeling self-assured that yes, he can do this. He can show them all that he’s someone you can trust to do his part.

The more he works, the more his confidence begins to waver. Numbers and blank spaces cover the pages, unfamiliar phrases and references to other forms making Fundy’s head spin. He dips his pen into the pot of lampblack ink, knowing he can’t afford to make a single mistake as he fills out the form. He can't let his hands shake like he knows they want to, can't let his lines tremble or leave dark spills on the page. He writes and writes, flipping back and forth through the form trying his best to make heads or tails of what is needed from him, what it wants him to spell out on the pages before him. 

After about an hour, Schlatt pokes his head in the door, an inscrutable smile on his face as he asks how the paperwork is going. Fundy barely hides the shaking of his shoulders and the frustrated, shame-filled tears that pool in his eyes and threaten to spill down his face as he tells Schlatt that no, he’s not finished, he just needs a little more time. The way that Schlatt’s smile falls almost breaks his resolve as he clenches the pen with a desperation he tries in vain not to show.

Fundy doesn't hear the affirmative Schlatt gives, but he does hear the door close. The dam breaks as he dissolves into quiet sobs, fist pressed against his mouth to stifle the pained whimpers. Of course Wilbur was right. Give him responsibility and he’ll fuck it up the first chance he’s given, fail miserably, crash and burn and destroy the slightest hint of trust placed upon him. Schlatt believed in his abilities, and look at Fundy now. Crying over some paperwork that he should be able to do with ease. He pulls his knees to his chest, places his head between them as he forcefully slows his panicked hyperventilation. He manages to slow his breath enough to return to work, still feeling shaky and overwrought as he uncurls from his position on the chair, pen gripped tightly in his hand as he stares down at his now-daunting task.

Fundy manages to finish the work to the best of his ability by the time that Schlatt returns, handing over the folder with his face carefully blank, ears held deceptively high, and the hand by his side clenched, nails digging into the sensitive skin of his palms. The shaking threatens to start again at Schlatt’s open frown, the small disappointed hum as he scans the paperwork with an observant eye. Quackity stands beside him, and Schlatt hands the file over to the other man.

The confusion on Quackity’s face as he reads doesn't help Fundy feel any better. The other man opens his mouth to speak, still clearly confused, but Schlatt cuts him off with a glare. He tells Fundy that it’s alright, that he doesn't need to do paperwork if he’s not good at it. That Quackity will do it instead, that he wouldn't mind the extra work. The hurt look on Quackity’s face and the way that his small wings pull tighter to his body makes Fundy feel horrible knowing that he’s adding to the other man’s already heavy workload. He barely even registers his ears pressing automatically down flat against his bowed head as he apologizes, so focused as he is on restraining himself from begging for a second chance, from telling Schlatt that he can learn with time. No one ever believes that, no matter how much they offer to give him a second try when he asks, they never do in the end. 

The next time that Quackity turns down his offers to hang out and get to know each other a little better as the only two people in the cabinet that are A. not sixteen, and B. not constantly asleep, telling Fundy that he has too much paperwork to finish with a sadly apologetic smile, Fundy knows that it’s his fault. If only he’d done a better job, been able to impress Schlatt, Quackity wouldn't be so swamped, stuck at his desk in the White House. Fundy sees him through the windows occasionally, writing frantically as he leans heavily on his elbow. Dark bags are visible from behind his sunglasses as his brow furrows with concentration, squinting down at the paper in his hand, and his downy white feathers are striped with stress bars. Fundy tries to bring Quackity his meals if he’s too busy to get them himself, the very least he can do for the Vice President, and Quackity always thanks him with a distracted smile. Once, while he’s there, he looks in the room that had been, for a day, his office. It’s entirely empty. The desk is gone, and there’s no sign that Fundy ever even sat in the cold, dark room.

Even Tubbo is busy compared to Fundy, running from place to place as he plans the festival, making sure that every piece fits together smoothly, trying his very best to ensure that it will be practically perfect in every way. Fundy admires the kid’s dedication, even if he is pretty obviously a spy for Pogtopia, working so hard as he is. It’s endearing, the way that he bounces as he oversees the setup of the booths, checking and double-checking the attendance list to make sure that there are enough chairs to seat everyone who RSVP’d and more. Fundy pitches in, and building the stage for the kid feels like the first really productive thing he’s done in a long time. He throws himself into it, collecting (and occasionally stealing) all the materials that he could ever need, royal purple banners with which to hang the stage, blackstone and quartz for the awning and Schlatt’s chair at center stage, magma to backlight it all, and a strip of red carpet that runs down the center like blood. It looks perfect when he finishes, and the few compliments that he gets from those who know that it’s his work make his tail wag back and forth with an exuberant joy, not unlike a puppy and far from the graceful fox he should be.

When Schlatt shoots him, day of the festival, he doesn’t even cry out as he dies, just sits up gasping at his last respawn point, high up in Hbomb’s game tower, and launches himself off the platform into the water below, taking but a moment to shake the water off of himself as he starts to run, feet pounding against the ground as he sent off rapidfire messages begging them not to start the festival without him there. He wants so badly to be included, to be accepted by the group, but it’s with a heavy heart that he sets his respawn point on the way, sure that he is, in all likelihood, going to die again. He’s proven right almost immediately, another arrow ripping through his soft flesh and shattering his bone, blood splattering as he dies where he stands. Once more he wakes up, chest aching as he throws the covers of the bed off. He tells them to wait, easily joking that he didn’t reset his respawn closer and yet again had to run all the way back. The roll of their eyes as he appears almost immediately makes his shoulders hunch ever-so-slightly as he recollects his things with the help of a quiet Bad, who gives him a little genuine smile as Fundy returns to his seat next to Technoblade.

Minutes later, Technoblade kills him in the boxing ring, and he has to restrain himself from gasping as he awakens this time. It wouldn’t do him any good to ruin his image further. Imagine being affected by dying, couldn’t be him. He entirely misses the sad look that Niki gives him as he joins right back in on the festivities, seemingly unaffected.

Fundy still stares with horor as Technoblade rips through Tubbo, through Schlatt, through Quackity, bursting their bodies apart with sprays of light that he had enjoyed seeing in the sky above almost half an hour before, and there is bile in his mouth as he runs for the stage, mind racing. It is only as Fundy sees Technoblade load his crossbow a second time, a feral grin beginning to spread across his lips as he turns to the crowd and fires that he thinks to run and save himself. He can’t stop Technoblade, not in any sort of one on one fight. Even in a friendly boxing match, Technoblade placed himself ahead on the playing field, beat Fundy to death with a strength potion and a few well-placed hits. So Fundy donned his armor as he turned tail and ran, letting the light and sounds of the fireworks at his back, the death notifications, the way that people,  _ friends _ screamed as they died spur him forward. It reminds him vividly of another time, when explosions and bursts of light and fire made him turn tail as everything he had known, everything he had loved was turned into ash and rubble behind him. He’s pretty used to that sort of thing, losing, but still he hyperventilates, feels his hands shake as he throws a spider eye into the lock of his hidden base, blinks away tears gathering in the corners of his eyes as he forgoes even unlocking it, just pulls out his pick and breaks into it, blocking the way off behind him. He didn’t even know why he ran down there, seeking a place to hide like the craven fox he is, valuing his own self-preservation over protecting the people he cares about, just as always. Just what everyone expects him to do. 

He comes slinking right back to Schlatt once the explosions stop ringing in his ears, crawling out of his burrow with his ears pressed down flat, teeth ever-so-slightly bared at the slightest hint of danger. Everyone stands confused, the rosy-fingered light of dawn reaching across the sky in ribbons as the night of the festival trails away. He feels almost unmoored where he stands, one scattered pearl among the many left after the festival. The rest of the festival passes by Fundy in a hazy, almost dissociative blur. Schlatt lets him stand on the stage, that gravestone to many that Fundy had built out of the wall meant to protect them, where blood still pools under the horned man’s feet. The thick red liquid blends with the carpet that Fundy himself had laid days prior. He likes standing on the stage, he thinks. It makes him feel important, worthy of respect. People listen to you, people take the time to stop and listen to the things that you have to say. They actually see you, not just the baby pink and sky blue that marks you out as you stand among deep navys and vibrant crimson. The suit makes him look professional, not just literally paling in comparison to everyone around him.

When his father shows up, it’s a mix of the pride of standing above everyone for once in his life, fear of Schlatt and his true followers after what happened to Tubbo, and just plain being torn that keeps him in place, that has him standing still. He’s even let into the White house for a meeting, listened to, even if what he says is dismissed. He refuses to speak, to truly act against Niki. He still cares for his running mate, someone who he wants so badly to consider his friend no matter how little she feels the same way towards him. He feels awful about Tubbo, dreamon hunters together, killed so horribly in front of everyone. The kid was kind and genuine, and he’d planned the festival without any complaint. Besides, what confidential information was he going to tell Wilbur and Tommy anyways? What wood he’d decided to use for the stands, how he’d decided to lay out the festival, how deep he’d dug his own grave? If Schlatt killed him just because he felt betrayed, if he wanted to kill Niki because she was ‘getting annoying’, what else would he do, on a whim or out of spite? He sees his own feelings mirrored on Quackity’s face, barely-masked horror and disbelief and a kind of conflicted hopelessness as they try to talk to Schlatt behind the stone walls of the White House.

Schlatt eventually tells them he wants to walk around the festival, and Fundy follows him, trailing after with Quackity as they find the few others who stayed. He skims along the social interactions as their little group wanders from one place to another at the whim of the president. When he sees the cat, it’s at the same moment that Schlatt does, all eyes fixing on it after Ponk points it out. It’s a tabby, small and striped with dark charcoal brown, curled into a small ball at the foot of a chest where it peacefully sleeps. The poor thing is doomed from before even the moment that they read the name tag that says  _ Sacrifice  _ on its collar, doomed from the moment that its owner decided to take it home to Manberg, decided to love it as their own. Watching it die is like Fungi all over again, a small broken corpse with fur stained red by the weapon of someone who wanted it dead on a simple whim.

It’s almost unsurprising at this point that it hits Fundy so hard. Alone and all but friendless, seen as a traitor by those of L’Manberg and obviously tolerated at best by the current regime and its supporters, Fundy is literally living for his pets. Boots, Socks, and Mittens, cats transported from thousands of blocks away to his usual base of operations. They’re all he has left, the only he had managed to bring home safely with so many dead and gone, some at the hands of other players and some from tragic accidents, each one a knife through his heart. 

He doesn't even learn, as when he tries to bring home new pet foxes, his first since Sapnap killed sweet Fungi, a kit drowns in the lake, and his heart nearly shatters. He ends up with two foxes, who, for all the trouble they cause him, he calls Annoying and Obnoxious. It takes him forever to lead them to where he wants to make his Fox Café prank, utterly proud of himself and excited to see how the bit plays out.

Of course, It’s just his luck that a Creeper catches them in its crossfire. Fundy wouldn’t have even minded having to respawn, recollecting his things, so long as his pets survived. But they didn’t, the creeper practically on top of them when it exploded, and Fundy was barely even hurt in the blast, not even singed, and he wanted to scream from the rooftops that  _ it wasn’t FAIR.  _ He had nothing truly his and he couldn't even have them. He can’t have his father’s respect, he can’t have Schlatt’s trust, he can’t even have two stupid foxes that just want to bounce around and kill chickens.

The thing is— The thing that churns his stomach and makes him feel like he’s wearing someone else’s skin— Is that he feels more horrible, more gut-wrenchingly grieving when a pet dies than when one of his comrades has to respawn after being slain in battle, their blood still hot on the floor where they died. Caring when he kills someone himself is practically unheard of. Trying to drown Techno was a game, a fun way to get some clout and some incredibly strong gear. Death is a farce, the pain fleeting.

But when he watches his foxes die, when he loses Beelloon, he wants nothing more than to scream like a newborn babe, to punch the wall until his hand is painted red, to tear apart things with just his claws. He wants to see what ended their fleeting lives set alight. 

It’s probably not the healthiest reaction, the earth-shaking terror he feels when Ponk threatens his cat as it waits for him to transport it home through the treacherous nether, Fundy stuck on a boat leagues away, nor the heart-shattering relief he feels when Awesam tells him that he managed to stop Ponk from killing the cat, that small purring thing that loves Fundy unconditionally, without disappointment or condescension. 

The death of the cat, so soon after the murder of Tubbo makes him willing to find Tubbo, his fellow dreamon hunter, and bring to him his conviction to being a spy. Somehow, finally solidifying his betrayal to Schlatt, who gave him a chance to prove himself capable in a way that he’d never really had before, feels almost worse than betraying Wilbur, his  _ father _ , the man who taught him his love of music, taught him how to create. He learned how to spin words on a loom from watching Wilbur, listening as he sang and spoke to captive audiences that stared at him like he set all the stars in the sky in glittering patterns. He loves his father for all these things, but for others he hates him too, hates being second in Wilbur’s eyes and heart every single time. All he ever wanted was to live up to that, to have Wilbur look at him like  _ he _ hung the stars, the prodigal son returned. 

He feels a twisting in his chest as he enters Pogtopia for the first time through the poorly-hidden tunnel under Manberg in his search for Tubbo, and Fundy isn’t sure what to make of it. The cavernous ravine feels more homey and cohesive than L’Manberg ever was, full of interwoven cobblestone structures, precarious wooden pathways stretching across and along the side of the split in the earth. Torches line the walls, and lanterns hang down from chains attached to the struts, casting the place in warm, yellow light, and soft-wavering shadows. He can see the touch of each person living there, from the room of green potato plants, to the extension of the Prime Path down the center, to Wilbur’s design sensibilities. It feels safe, down there in the earth, and Fundy wonders if that safety would ever be for him. 

It’s something almost unattainable, the idea of having a place that truly feels like home. At most he has his aboveground base, a place where he keeps his stuff and cooks any ores he gets and not much more than that, and his burrow under the flag, unfinished and nowhere near anything resembling a comfortable place to live. He’s proud of it, of course, the sliding six-door he built with the help of Illumina and the passcode lock he set the redstone for himself, but it’s not like there’s anything that makes either place home, not even his respawn point. 

He’s never entirely sure where he’ll wake up next, no consistent way to tell where he last slept or even  _ when  _ he last slept, always moving about from place to place with no time for him to rest. Even with the fact that they’re not even actually at war, nothing can convince Fundy to let his guard down. It wouldn't be safe for him to settle down, he knows, wouldn't be logical to stop watching his back for the next blow, given the track record of pretty much every single fucking person, with the exception of like, Tubbo, the one person who willingly spends time with him even after the festival, making traps and trawling the oceans for tridents with Fundy. Even Niki he doesn’t really trust to stand behind him now, given how angry at him she must be. A sword and an opportunity is all it would take for her to get revenge, so he won’t give it to her.

Running around pranking people is pretty much the only time he feels really ‘normal’, unbothered. Harmless, stupid tricks meant to annoy, but not to hurt, light-hearted. He fills Eret’s castle with flamingos, and the fun he gets out of that leaves him practically bouncing as his mind runs with ideas at an almost unmatchable pace. He didn't really know what everyone’s whole deal with the buttons was, but buttons are easy to make and Fundy has quite a bit of wood, so he makes a ton of them and absolutely  _ covers _ Pogtopia, placing the little wooden blocks on every clean surface he can, laughing as he goes.

Apparently that was a bigger deal than he thought it was, who would have known. 

After the failed meeting, after he watches as Quackity and Tommy are chased off by Schlatt, he makes the decision to finally defect to Pogtopia. For good. He’s seen enough of Schlatt, gathered more information than he knows what to do with, and he might as well pass it off to them, give them some hope and maybe a new plan of attack. 

He almost reconsiders revealing himself right then and there, hearing the echo of ‘my traitor son’ ringing down the cave in Wilbur’s voice like the very earth itself condemns him, but he steels himself as he walks to them. He tries to speak, to let them know the truth, that he never really turned from them, only staying so that he could support them from the shadows. For all that he doesn’t think it’ll be the case, he can’t help but feel the smallest spark of hope in is chest telling him the maybe, just maybe he’ll be welcomed with open arms by Quackity, and Tommy, and maybe even Wilbur, no matter how much they all seem to think he’s one hundred percent for Schlatt. Was his facade so good that even Quackity, who’d been there when he’d expressed his concerns after the Festival, who’d seen what Schlatt was like behind closed doors, worked directly under the man, thought that Fundy was his lackey? Had Tommy and Wilbur really believed he’d turn on them without a second thought or a backward glance? 

No matter, he had the means to clear himself in the form of his diary, painstakingly maintained in what was quite possibly a very nerdy fashion, but Fundy had always enjoyed tales of spies and secret agents, and now he got to be one. It would prove that he never once truly turned on his Wilbur and on L’Manberg. He would be the prodigal son returned home to his father’s side after so long gone, finally loved and finally worthy of praise. He had served faithfully by his father’s side for so long and never received a second glance, a non-condescending, truly proud smile. Things could be different now, now that he had stepped out from the shadow to do something truly his own idea to help the cause, to please his father. 

Fundy lets them trap him, lets them fill the box with water as he waits for his chance to speak, and there is a lilt in his father’s voice as he tells them to let Fundy speak like it’s a whim of his, let the kit speak, watch him do tricks and beg, look how well-trained he is, did you know that foxes could be tamed? It’s amusement, Fundy thinks, and his heart falls even as Wilbur’s face brightens with the realization that practically everyone hates Schlatt and everything he stands for. He stays silent even as they speak, waits quietly for any acknowledgement of what he did for them, hope draining away like water down the drain with every second he stands there still.

It’s only moments later that Wilbur tells Fundy that he despises him, the look on his face and the tone of his voice uncomfortably honest, and all Fundy can think is that at least Wilbur can be honest with everyone. He doesn’t have to pretend to love him anymore. 

**Author's Note:**

> watching the fundy spy reveal on tommy n wilburs streams was so funny bc the chat was so surprised i was dying like. newsflash assholes he's been a spy this whole time /lh
> 
> finished this fic way faster than i was going to originally bc i read a fic with such an ice-cold take on him that i got spite motivation lmao. but like seriously fundy's arc is so fucking sad and people need to put more respect on his name
> 
> have a nice morning guys i'm so fucking tired


End file.
